


Christmas at the Simmons'

by cornflakes_canvas



Series: It's In Your Head [4]
Category: Bastille (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Eve, Domestic Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:22:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21920974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cornflakes_canvas/pseuds/cornflakes_canvas
Summary: "The Simmons Experience, Christmas Edition"
Relationships: Kyle Simmons/Dan Smith
Series: It's In Your Head [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/836193
Comments: 10
Kudos: 44





	1. Christmas at the Simmons' (I)

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas ♥♥  
> This is part of the "It's In Your Head" series and begins right where the last chapter left off, probably only makes sense if you've read at least a bit of the story.  
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated ♥

Obviously, any flight home from the States was a lengthy, tiring and irritating one, so when Dan and Kyle had, at long last, settled in the backseat of a black Uber carrying them to Mr and Mrs Simmons' house where they were meant to be spending the first half of the (mad) Christmas holidays, and Dan pointedly ignored their lively driver's incessant chattering, the keyboardist thought that his fiancé was simply struggling to cope with the beginnings of his usual jet lag. It was never the flight overseas that absolutely _crushed_ him, but when they returned to their home island, Dan typically needed at _least_ a week to recover from their messed up sleeping schedule, blooming migraines, and the unshakeable feeling of overall shittiness which he was usually more than happy to let anybody in on, if only they were willing to listen.

He was not lamenting now.

It was pouring down (of course it was) and Dan had leaned his head heavily against the cool car window and was staring outside with the most exhausted look on his face, the dark grey circles around his eyes sparking a feeling of concern in Kyle's chest that he did not like in the least.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, nudging his lover's thigh, and Dan let his eyes flutter shut as he nodded, a strand of hair falling into his eyes with the motion.

Granted, it had been one hell of a month – or the _December from hell_ –, full to the brim with travelling, gigs, and radio interviews, sightseeing as much as they could and appearing on television once or twice when they were able to squeeze it in. They were all well and truly knackered and hadn't _exactly_ been thrilled about the handful of Christmas shows that had been added to their itinerary at the last minute. But, after all, what were they supposed to do? _Refuse_ to perform? Of course not, they swallowed the stress with smiles on their faces, and they played the way they always did – with warmth and ardour and as much energy as they had left in them.

Kyle and Dan had initially planned on spending at least two days at home, _their_ home, to wind down and de-stress, to spend some quality cuddling time together (which Dan swore he would only agree to if Kyle stopped calling it _nakey time_ ) and celebrate getting _bloody engaged_ – preferably with Chinese takeaway and whilst watching reruns of some late 90s TV show they wouldn't be paying attention to as they tore each other's clothes off.

Celebrating life-altering events _the right way_ – a Simmons tradition. After all, Kyle only intended to get married once; unless they felt like renewing their vows when they were in their sixties and still every bit as much in love as they were now.

Well, intentions were one thing, the universe making its own plans was another matter entirely. Which was how they found themselves standing in front of the richly adorned Simmons residence, pulling two suitcases bearing the green-and-white Heathrow Airport labels that were meant to make sure the luggage didn't get lost.

(Dan could have written a song about how well that actually worked.)

There was a tacky _“Merry X-mas”_ wreath on the door with a clearly handwritten sign underneath that read _“from the Simons”_ with the missing letter added in black sharpie, and Kyle sighed. It was going to be a long weekend.

Not because his family didn't get along (they did) or because they didn't like Dan (they _did_ ) but because every single one of the Simmonses had obviously inherited the _crazy gene_. It made for interesting dinners when each of the family members was yelling at the top of their lungs trying to get their point across, as Dan had (unfortunately) had to witness on a few more occasions than Kyle would have liked. Not that he couldn't handle the lunacy (he had practice, after all, what with breathing the same air as the bearded man every day for the past years of his life) but the Smiths were a much more modest bunch and Kyle couldn't help feeling embarrassed for his own insufferable relatives and what they called their sense of humour.

This time was different though. When Kyle looked at Dan now, it wasn't the familiar knowing and conspiratorial gaze that was directed at him. Instead, his fiancé was staring unmovingly into space and sighing softly.

That was until the door was all but ripped from its hinges and a petite, dark-haired woman appeared on the threshold, excitedly exclaiming her son's name at the same time as the door crashed loudly into the hallway wall behind her. Kyle grinned at his mum sheepishly, struggling to take in everything at once – the pervasive smell of burnt biscuits wafting through from the small kitchen, the unironically ugly reindeer sweater Mrs Simmons was sporting, the nerve-jangling pan flute music resonating from the living room, and the blinking holiday lights draped over every surface Kyle could make out from his viewpoint. But, leaving him no opportunity to react in any way, shape, or form, his mother pulled him into a bone-crushing hug and kissed his cheek with an obnoxious smack, before moving on to Dan who was clearly forcing himself to smile.

“Daniel, you look so tired!” Mrs Simmons said very tactfully and Kyle rolled his eyes and laid his hands on his mother's shoulders, spinning her around and gently ushering her into the house.

“Go on then, it's freezing out here,” he huffed and quickly grasped Dan's hand in his own, smiling softly at the man who did his best to return the gesture – but it looked more like a strained grimace, and Kyle was suddenly very glad that they were in England at least, and not in their stuffy tour bus somewhere in America where Dan would spontaneously decide to live off coffee for anywhere between three and eight weeks.

The Simmons home was bigger than it had any right to be. Fair enough – they had, for the past twenty-five years, been a family of five (and a _rowdy_ one at that), but the house his parents had raised Kyle and his siblings in would be big enough to home _two_ Simmons families (which sounded like an absolute nightmare, imagine a universe in which _two_ Kyles were fighting for _one_ Dan Smith's affection). Mrs Simmons had even mentioned once or twice that she was hoping at least one of her children would one day move back into the big family house, but Kyle would genuinely rather live with his in-laws than expose his and Dan's hypothetical future children to his parents' ( _and_ grandparents') hysteria each and every day – and he was pretty certain that Dan would most definitely share his opinion.

Kyle's shoulders shook with wordless horror as he shimmied out of his winter coat, and toeing off his boots, he glanced at Dan who too was ridding himself of several of the many layers he was well wrapped up in. Both men were struggling to feel like _themselves_ after the tiring flight, the time difference, and the repercussions of several stressful weeks. While Mrs Simmons busied herself with putting the kettle on, the younger man smiled warmly and quickly slung both arms around his fiancé's waist, pulling Dan flush against his body and pressing his cold nose into the man's neck. Dan's skin had become warm and outrageously soft under his big wool scarf, and he shrieked indignantly as he tried pushing the taller man off.

“You're freezing! Stop harassing me!” he shout-whispered and glanced over Kyle's shoulder to see if they were being watched.

“I'm harassing you _because_ I'm freezing. Gimme some of that delicious heat,” Kyle grinned and snuggled further into the older man, humming against his throat and internally bubbling with giddiness when Dan shuddered under the attention he was getting.

“I should charge heating costs, what with how much you use me as your personal radiator,” he mumbled into Kyle's shoulder, and the taller man tucked him under his chin and chuckled. He loved Dan and he _loved_ how tough the guy was and that he had, over the past years, grown into someone unwavering and _strong_. But he loved it just as much when Dan allowed himself to wind down – when he allowed Kyle to take care of him and protect him. It felt nice to be someone's rock.

“It's nice to be your rock,” he repeated his inner monologue and Dan twisted his head to peer up at his lover, brow furrowed.

“My what now?”

Kyle beamed. “Dwayne,” he kissed Dan's lips softly, “The Rock,” another kiss, “Johnson,” he finished and smooshed the man's cheeks together. “God, you're _adorable_.”

Humming contentedly into the sweet kisses, Dan let his eyes fall shut, noticeably deflating in his lover's arms. “Do you wanna tell them this weekend?” he murmured and Kyle stroked his cheeks tenderly, contemplating.

“You okay with that?”

Dan furled his eyebrows. “Yeah, course. Just wanted to make sure before I accidentally let it slip.”

“Let what slip?” came Mrs Simmons' animated voice from the living room, and before her son could answer, the woman popped her head around the corner and added, “What are you standing around for? I made tea!”

Her almost accusatory tone made Kyle chuckle and he pulled Dan along as he settled on the big, blue sofa he loved (so much so that they had spent three full, agonising hours waddling through a Scandinavian chain selling ready-to-assemble furniture in search of a couch that came even _close_ to his parents' one in size, shape and colour).

As ever, his mum (and _her_ mum) had massively overdone it in terms of Christmas decorations, and the family's living area was overladen beyond measure. Every available surface, it seemed, was covered in cheesy crib figurines, bulky candles, fragrant evergreens and cheap, glittery artificial snow. Kyle's grandfather's poor, old piano, stood unsuspectingly in a corner of the living room, had been demoted to a table of sorts, now housing the largest Christmas pyramid that Kyle had ever seen, and the windows were plastered with paper stars. It was retch-worthily, _gloriously_ kitschy. For a brief moment, Kyle's eyes wandered aimlessly about the room before meeting his future husband's wide-eyed gaze, and when Dan swallowed loudly, he couldn't help a soft snort escaping him.

“Dan,” his mum interrupted the private moment, her eyes full of the eagerness that seemed to overcome her whenever the blue-eyed man somehow found himself in her immediate vicinity, “are you hungry at all?”

Kyle pouted exaggeratedly. “ _Starving_ , actually.”

“I'm fine,” Dan replied with a modest smile, pinching his lover's thigh before curling up against him, “Thank you, Mrs Simmons.”

The woman nodded her head and smiled proudly at the two men, wearing the strangely dreamy expression that meant she was letting her mind float way, _way_ back to bratty little Kyle, wishing she could time travel and _gush_ to her son about the wonderful man he would call _his_ one day. Mrs Simmons was nothing if not predictable.

(Though Kyle was silently glad that time travelling wasn't an option just yet because his tiny teenage brain would have exploded trying to imagine everything he and his “mysterious husband from the future” were going to get up to.)

_Speaking of husband ..._

Kyle cleared his throat subtly, and Dan squeezed his hand, knowingly and in silent reassurance. “So, mum,” the keyboardist started, voice a tad shaky given the circumstances, and his mother smiled up at him, “there's actually something we want to-”

“If you're not engaged, it can wait till after Christmas,” she waved him off, and Kyle snapped his mouth shut loudly, “I have a million things to do before tomorrow.” And with that, the woman all but leaped from her chair and scuttled off in a hurry, leaving Kyle feeling dumbstruck and Dan looking mildly concerned.

“ _Surprise_ , we're getting married!” Kyle sing-songed quietly to himself and Dan let out a weary sigh as he leaned heavily against his partner, head resting comfortably on the taller man's shoulder and their hands still intertwined.

The younger man let his thumb glide over the unassuming silver band that Dan had worn every minute of every hour since Kyle's near-disastrous marriage proposal, and kissing the singer's temple reassuringly, he settled back into the sofa cushions, both arms wrapped tightly around the man he loved.

Maybe one engagement party was all they were going to get.

* * *

_The previous evening_

Charlie, Will and Woody had awkwardly congregated around a chunky coffee table in the spacious bar area when Kyle walked through the doorway feeling awfully self-aware, and their little eyes instantly settled on him like they were mice and he an alarmingly tall cat. He saluted the waiting men mockingly as he sauntered up to them and settled into one of the vacant armchairs, grabbing a fold-up menu off the table and scanning the glossy pages, intently and with knitted brows.

Kyle could hear the hushed whispers of _“no, you!”_ and _“why me?!”_ coming from his bandmates, and he hid his face behind the printed menu to conceal a playful smile blossoming on his face. Finally, after a long moment of charged silence, one of the men cleared his throat and Charlie's voice sounded timidly from across the table.

“So, uh,” he began and the bearded man peered at him suspiciously over the edge of the laminated paper, one eyebrow raised, “did Dan ever find you?”

The keyboardist only shrugged his shoulders and returned to staring stoically at the list of offered drinks, watching wordlessly from the corner of his eye as Will shook his head subtly and Charlie elbowed Woody in the side. Finally, Kyle put the menu down with more force than necessary and glared sternly at his assembled friends.

“Something you wanna say?”

The three men gaped back at him as if they were staring certain death in the eye, and Kyle had to press his teeth together firmly to stop himself from grinning widely, the distinct feel of the empty ring box in his pocket spurring him on.

“Look,” Woody spoke carefully yet determinedly, and Kyle raised his brows as if challenging his friend, _daring_ him to continue, “we're, uh,” he coughed, “we're sorry if we interfered with, like, a romantic evening or whatever. But how were we supposed to know you were planning something? It's not like you guys have a super fun sexy times schedule.” The drummer squinted his eyes. “Definitely something you should think about though, I'm kinda tired of walking in on one of you getting th-”

“What he's trying to say,” Will interposed levelly, glancing at the shaggy-haired man with a comically strict expression, “is that we're sorry we interrupted _something_ , and we want to make sure you're not feeling ... embarrassed.”

Kyle shifted in the cushioned armchair as his omnipresent self-consciousness clawed its way to the very forefront of his mind yet again. “I-I'm not embarrassed,” he said with as much conviction as he could muster and crossed his legs casually, “just annoyed. I should be getting laid right now.”

“We get it!” Will all but hissed and the elderly couple at one of the neighbouring tables immediately turned their heads to peer at them curiously. “Look, we get it, alright? You've been together for years, we know you don't _sing_ each other to sleep at night. Stop oversharing.” Kyle only grinned in response and folded his hands comfortably in his lap.

“Where's your better half anyway?” came Charlie's vague attempt at diplomacy, and Kyle only shrugged sullenly. Trying to look immensely, earth-shatteringly disappointed, he reached into his pocket and solemnly placed the velvet ring box on the coffee table, silently revelling in his friends' baffled expressions as they slowly took in the expensive-looking item in front of them.

“I was gonna propose,” Kyle whispered as if to himself and cast his eyes downwards in feigned discouragement, and whilst Will swiftly lay a supportive hand on his shoulder, Woody mumbled incoherently to himself and Charlie sighed loudly.

“Well,” the youngest of the group spoke up tentatively, “so it didn't work out this time. Big deal, you'll just try again! It's not like you've only got one shot at this, right?” And he glanced at the other two pleadingly, looking for any semblance of agreement in their sober expressions. “Right?”

“It would've been perfect though,” Kyle muttered, sulking, “I planned it all perfectly.”

Woody sighed and threw his hands in the air, but the gesture was lacking in vigour. “Well, maybe if you'd _told_ us-”

At that moment, Charlie shushed the long-haired man by slapping his shoulder frantically, and he quickly snagged the blue box off the table, plastering an overjoyed smile on his face as he looked pointedly over Kyle's shoulder.

“Dan! There you are!” he announced loudly and nodded his head at the approaching singer as if he were secretly informing the others of the new arrival. Kyle bit down hard on his bottom lip and quickly turned around to greet his fiancé who, as announced, had changed into more comfortable clothes (sweatpants) so they could celebrate their engagement comfortably (in sweatpants), and was smiling tenderly, knowingly at the younger man as soon as their eyes met. Kyle could have swooned at the sight (despite the damn sweatpants).

He reached out to grab Dan's arm and pulled the singer into his side, pressing their lips together in a short but sweet kiss, and Kyle's heart skipped wildly in his chest when he saw the pleasantly surprised look on his lover's beautiful face.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he hummed blissfully against Dan's lips and the older man blushed pink at the rather public ministrations.

“Hey,” he simply replied and waved a bit shyly at his friends before he began dragging an unoccupied armchair to the small table the men had claimed as theirs, its legs scraping across the marble floor like nails against a chalkboard.

“We ordering food or what?” he asked, glancing at the men inquiringly, “I'm _starving_ ,” and he picked up the discarded menu and started running his index finger along the lines of savoury snacks and adventurously-named cocktails. “Drinks, too. Why aren't you drinking yet?” he asked genuinely suspiciously, and Kyle witnessed the exact moment Charlie's confused and worried expression transformed into one of open-mouthed shock when his eyes fell on the polished ring on Dan's finger. His green eyes slowly turned to Kyle who couldn't hold back a mischievous grin any longer.

“Oh, you _bastard_ ,” Charlie said very slowly and the keyboardist widened his eyes innocently as the other men eyed them uncertainly.

“What?” Kyle asked naïvely and smoothly linked his fingers with Dan's, raising the beringed hand to his lips and pressing a slow, tender kiss to the silver band.

Charlie jumped out of his chair, his stunned expression slowly but surely morphing into a frenzied smile as he shook his head disbelievingly at the tall man. “You bastard!” he all but shouted again, and for a split second, Kyle thought the shorter man might just lunge at him across the table. Instead, Charlie squeezed swiftly past the hefty obstacle and, without further ado, pulled Kyle out of his seat and into a lung-crushing hug. “You bastard made us feel bad!”

Poor Dan, who looked like he was feeling increasingly out of place, was blinking his big, blue eyes and watching the interaction with confused curiosity, and before he could utter as much as a word, he too was pulled into an all-enveloping embrace. Both the hotheaded drummer and the taciturn bassist continued ogling their friends as if they had just realised that they had walked into the wrong cinema and were now watching the plot of _Pretty Woman_ unfold on the big screen when they had been counting on _The Texas Chainsaw Massacre III_.

Charlie rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “Oh my _Go_ \- he's wearing a _ring_ , you idiots!” he exclaimed, and Woody and Will both looked over at their bearded friend and the impressive number of shimmering rings adorning Kyle's slender fingers, brows drawn together in confused concentration.

The youngest of the men groaned softly. “Not _him_ ,” he declared emphatically and grabbed Dan's arm before holding it up in front of the others – and though it was dangling rather limply in his friend's iron grip, the engagement band on the blue-eyed man's ring finger was immediately recognisable as such.

And while the two clueless bandmates' jaws (figuratively) dropped to the floor, Kyle couldn't stop beaming with happiness, feeling all but delirious as he swept his fiancé into his arms and claimed the giggling singer's lips in a searing kiss.

* * *

Kyle smiled buoyantly to himself as he recalled the group's euphoric (and rather sloppy) nocturnal celebration, the laughing and drinking, reminiscing about their shared past and ranking Dan's haircuts (Kyle's personal favourite had lasted less than forty-eight hours). The two lovers, feeling as giddy as newlyweds, had finally retired to their hotel room, and they paid attention to nothing and nobody else as they lay wrapped up in the sheets, rediscovering every inch of each other and kissing languidly in their slow, familiar rhythm until the sun rose behind the flimsy curtains.

When Kyle looked into Dan's blue eyes then and saw the heated haze that seemed to glaze them, he first noticed his love looking a little _woozy_ ; and when the singer complained (albeit halfheartedly) about feeling lightheaded on their way down to breakfast that morning, Kyle was pretty certain that Dan was coming down with something or other.

Unfortunately, between packing and gulping down the strongest coffee their bodies could handle, heading off to the airport in a flurry of snow, enduring security and having a snooze in the painfully uncomfortable chairs at their gate when their flight had a slight delay, _finally_ arriving in rainy ol' London, surviving a second round of security, making one last pit stop for coffee (to gear up before jumping into _The Simmons Experience, Christmas Edition_ ) and waiting for the next available Uber, there hadn't been a lot of time to see how his fiancé was holding up.

Dan was sound asleep now, his head lolling on the taller man's shoulder with every minuscule movement and mouth slightly agape as he inhaled and exhaled quite noisily. Mrs Simmons scurried back into the room at some point, clearly about to go off on another of her breathless rants before her son wordlessly pointed at his resting lover, and his mother wrinkled her forehead in concern and quickly draped a warm blanket over Dan's shoulders, smiling affectionately at his peaceful expression and brushing a stray strand of hair off his forehead. Kyle's heart ached a little as he witnessed the loving gesture.

The older man slept all through the afternoon drizzle that soon rained down on the house, and he only began stirring ever so slightly when Kyle's much-loved grandmother arrived home after one last round of Christmas shopping and immediately began setting the kitchen table very loudly. Kyle's arms were still wrapped protectively around the man snoring happily on his chest, and Dan looked so heartbreakingly cosy in the big plush blanket, with only half of his head poking out from underneath, that Kyle wished he didn't have to wake his lover at all.

Dan did finally come to slowly and sluggishly, and Kyle could have pinpointed the precise moment the man remembered exactly where he was.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he murmured and yawned softly as he snuggled into his partner, kissing his cheek firmly.

Dan sat up hurriedly, very nearly hitting Kyle in the groin in the process. “M-Morning?”

“Just kidding, just kidding,” the keyboardist was quick to reassure the man who instantly let himself sag limply against his lover. “Wouldn't matter anyway. We're on break, remember?”

“I know,” Dan mumbled and Kyle caught his eye, utterly unconvinced, “well, my head knows anyway,” the blue-eyed man admitted and breathed a sigh, “my body just hasn't gotten the memo yet.”

Kyle hummed in understanding as he ran a hand through the man's thick hair, relishing the open and honest intimacy they were able to share around his family. He knew it was not a given, living in a social environment that was so accepting of who he was (and whom he loved), and both he and Dan generally tended to dial it down a notch around their bandmates – not because their friends had any issues at all with the two being together, but because the couple felt awkward exposing the men to their idea of _PDA_. Being home and on holiday meant that Kyle could smother his intended with sweet kisses as much as he bloody wanted to, could touch him without it feeling like a secret that nobody was in on, could call him disgustingly cutesy names, make vaguely dirty jokes and stare at Dan longingly for hours – and all it would elicit were satisfied sighs from the Simmons women, his fiancé flushing furiously, and the rest of the family acting mildly exasperated.

Kyle nuzzled into Dan's neck again, briefly wondering whether the heat he felt was a fever making itself known, and he stroked the man's back and simply revelled in the closeness that he had been looking forward to more than anything – until his grandma marched into the room and cleared her throat.

Dan looked up at her timidly. “Oh,” he exhaled softly and the elderly woman beamed from ear to ear, “h-hi, Mrs Simmons.”

She waved a dismissive hand at him. “How many times do I need to tell you to stop being so damn polite,” she stated matter-of-factly and the singer looked distinctly embarrassed while Kyle chuckled in amusement.

“Don't bully him, nan,” he stated sternly and pulled Dan against his chest as if the man were in dire need of protection.

The woman raised a precisely plucked eyebrow at her grandson. “I bully him a lot less than you do.”

“I second that,” Dan mumbled his agreement, shivering slightly now that he had rid himself of the warm, woollen blanket. Mrs Simmons Snr grinned.

“Come on now, dinner's ready.”

They sat around the oaken kitchen table for just under two hours, devouring the mountains of food that Mrs Simmons had so lovingly prepared and drinking hot, spicy punch, talking about what everyone had been up to and laughing at nan's quirky (at times slightly offensive) anecdotes. Kyle's dad had finally made it home after his last workday before the big holidays and was clearly feeling loose and high-spirited, his aunt had materialised out of thin air and announced that she was staying over, and both Kyle's baby sister as well as their older brother and his girlfriend had turned up right on time for dinner.

It was loud, it was hot, it was jovial – and Kyle was _shattered_. The jet lag was catching up with him too now, and all he wanted was to tell his family the big news and sleep without disturbances until his mum dragged both him and Dan out of bed to dump them in front of the wildly glistening Christmas tree. But he couldn't get a word in edgeways, no matter how many times he started with _“anyway”_ or _“so, guys,”_ and Kyle was getting increasingly frustrated. He was excited, he was happier than he had ever been – and he just wanted his parents to know that he was getting _married_.

After a good while, Mr Simmons seemingly got wind of his son's gradually worsening mood, and he cleared his throat loudly to catch his wife's attention. She wrinkled up her nose.

“What now?”

“I think Kyle has been meaning to say something.”

All eyes instantly flew to the bearded man who was sat at the very end of the table, and swallowing down his nerves, Kyle looked to Dan for support. The singer was still looking a little worse for wear and the food on his plate had been left all but untouched, but nonetheless, he was wearing a small, reassuring smile on his face, and Kyle quickly grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze that he hoped would communicate precisely how he felt.

“Um, yeah. So, as you know, we've just gotten back from the States, uh, p-playing our last shows of the year and doing some press and-”

“Kyle, honey,” his mum interrupted, “no work talk at the dinner table, please. You know this.”

His dad raised one coal-black eyebrow. “Oh? This apply to me too? 'Cause I distinctly remember you complaining about how I never tell you about work.”

“I didn't mean at dinner time,” Mrs Simmons pouted, “but you _could_ -”

“Every time I talk about work, you tell me-”

“Wait, so,” Kyle's sister interrupted the little marital dispute, clearly embarrassed that her parents were squabbling in front of her brothers' significant others, “did you have, like, thirty degrees and sunshine down there? Must be quite a shock to the system.”

“N-No, we went to NYC,” Kyle clarified with furrowed brows, clearly not impressed that he was still not allowed to say what he was so desperate to get out, “snow and that. But listen-”

“What the hell, I'm so _jealous_!” his tipsy aunt proclaimed rather loudly, slurring her words just enough to be noticeable, and Kyle's mum turned to look at her, irritation sparking in her brown eyes.

“You _hate_ snow. Remember that time in Switzerland when we were teens? You wouldn't stop complaining about how terribly it stung your eyes!”

“That wasn't Switzerland, it was France! Our hostess spoke _French_ , remember?”

Mrs Simmons Snr huffed a derisive laugh. “Finch, I think you need to retake your primary school geography class.”

The bearded man took a deep, calming breath. “ _Listen_ -”

“She's not the one who thought Helsinki was a country,” Kyle's brother added with an amused smirk and glanced at his mum knowingly. The woman huffed.

“You better watch your tone if you want-”

“Would you _just listen_?” Dan suddenly interjected loudly and the room immediately went eerily quiet. The rhythmic ticking of the kitschy cuckoo clock on the wall sounded like a judge's gavel calling to order as everybody's eyes turned towards the blue-eyed man. Mrs Simmons could only stare at the singer and Kyle's brain distantly noted that her eyes looked like they were going to pop out of their sockets.

“Honey, are you okay?” the woman uttered in a hushed, almost secretive tone and the singer blinked his big eyes at her, looking like he was only just registering what it was he had said. Everyone around the table was looking at him inquisitively, expectantly.

“I-I'm sorry.” Dan released a shuddering breath. “I feel sick.”


	2. Christmas at the Simmons' (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's me done for the year. Thank you so much to all the wonderful people who have been so supportive, leaving comments, encouraging me and being so insanely kind. I love you!! ♥  
> Have a wonderful Christmas, until next year ♥♥

Amidst theatrical gasps, distressed outcries of _“oh my God”_ and _“are you alright,”_ and Dan paling noticeably, Kyle pushed back his chair and, without wasting as much as a second, pulled his fiancé out of his own seat with gentle force and led him to the tiny, barely furnished guest bedroom which was located at the very back of the house. He cranked the rusty heater up to the max, pulled the heavy curtains shut and lay his lover down on the bouncy double bed, wrapping him up in his arms and stroking his dark hair soothingly. Dan was shivering violently and his skin was certainly feeling a little too hot for Kyle's liking, and eager to share as much of his own heat as he possibly could, he began lovingly caressing every inch of skin his fingers could find.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured against the singer's temple after a few minutes of consolatory silence.

Dan didn't answer. He only buried his nose in the taller man's shoulder and inhaled softly. “You smell amazing.”

“You're delirious,” the keyboardist joked affectionately and Dan scoffed, wriggling around in Kyle's warm embrace and shimmying his cold hands under his boyfriend's sweater – the younger man clenched his jaw tight when the other pressed his freezing fingers into his sides, but he didn't flinch. They lapsed into silence and for a good while, the only sound that could be heard was that of hot water running and gurgling through the aged radiator.

“'m sorry,” Dan whispered at last, and his voice sounded thick with remorse. Kyle hugged him closer to his chest and stretched out his long legs under the covers.

“What for?”

“Being rude, snapping at your family ...” Dan sighed. “Ruining dinner, essentially.”

The younger man snorted softly despite himself. “You didn't ruin dinner, baby. You're probably last on the list of people in this house who might potentially ruin dinner.” He pondered for a moment. “Actually, I think _I_ might be at the top of that list.”

Kyle didn't get a response, but he felt Dan relax into him ever so subtly. “I think I'm okay now,” he finally muttered and the taller man leaned back to scrutinise his fiancé's all but ashen face, raising both eyebrows as he noted the dark shadows around Dan's eyes and his almost unfocused, fever-glazed gaze. “We should get back in there. We still haven't _told them_.”

“Baby,” Kyle sighed, “I don't mean to sound harsh, but I will literally chain you to the bed if I have to. You're not leaving this room until you've had a couple hours rest.” Dan opened his mouth to revolt, and the keyboardist pressed an unceremonious hand over his mouth, silencing him effectively.

The older man glared at him and grabbed his wrist, tugging determinedly on the offending hand. “If you wanna get kinky you just have to tell me, you know.”

Kyle put on a pitying smile and shook his head sadly. “Baby, at your current energy level you'd probably pass out from excitement alone before anything kinky could actually take place.”

Watching a childish pout form on his lover's lips, Kyle could only marvel at how much Dan looked like a bratty teenager pretending to be some sort of rebellious prince, with his hair sticking up in thirteen directions and the big wool blanket appearing to swallow his tall form. He smiled.

“You sure you don't wanna eat? You probably feel sick 'cause you've barely eaten in, like, twenty-four hours. You know that, right?”

The singer shook his head vehemently and let it fall heavily against Kyle's shoulder, thoughtfully running his fingers across his partner's ribcage and sniffling quietly. “You don't need to worry about me, you know?”

Kyle hummed. “What makes you think I'm worried?” he inquired sarcastically and Dan immediately gazed up at him, eyes full of sincerity and searching for something the younger man could not name.

“You've called me _baby_ approximately twelve times in the past two minutes. You only do that when you're worried. Or being a sarcastic piece of dick.”

“Well. Maybe I'm just being a sarcastic piece of dick then.”

“That too.”

Chuckling deeply, Kyle sat up with some difficulty and carefully dumped his lover on the big cushions piled behind his back. “If you can use words like _approximately_ , you can definitely stop complaining,” he declared and shimmied off the large bed.

“Where you going?” his fiancé promptly complained in a whiny tone, and the keyboardist had to laugh.

“Getting you something to eat,” he announced determinedly and Dan breathed a muffled groan into one of the down-filled pillows as Kyle quickly slunk out of the room, shaking his head good-naturedly to himself.

-

Kyle made a large mug of _Cup-a-Soup_ and force-fed most of it to the blue-eyed man (who still insisted on maintaining his kidlike behaviour) until he finally passed out from fatigue and snoozed restlessly for roughly an hour. Mrs Simmons popped in once around nine o'clock, balancing two festive cups of steaming tea and wanting to check in on her son's sickly partner before going to bed, and Dan, who had since begun feeling slightly more _human_ , had immediately started apologising profusely for behaving oddly at dinner. Predictably, Mrs Simmons stopped him with a wave of her hand – she almost seemed offended that Dan would feel the need to excuse himself for falling ill.

Sat on the edge of the bed, she squeezed Dan's hand reassuringly and took in his slumped form, sat cross-legged in the middle of the mattress. The rosiness had returned to his cheeks.

“You look a bit better at least,” she sighed, seeming genuinely concerned, and Kyle smiled to himself.

“Yeah, um,” Dan stammered, releasing a shaky breath, “yeah, I feel a lot better. Thanks to Kyle.”

Both Mrs Simmons and her son beamed brightly at him and a look of sheer affection passed through the woman's dark eyes. “I'm so glad, Dan,” she clasped his hand again, “that Kyle found you, I mean. There have been times I worried he'd never settle,” she admitted, “what with being a bit-” Kyle eyed her curiously, one brow raised as if to say _“go on then,”_ and the woman smiled at her son, “-well. You know what I mean.” And she and Dan grinned at each other as if sharing a private joke.

“I think you'd be surprised,” the singer disclosed quietly, “I'd be an insufferable mess if it weren't for him,” he confessed and shared a knowing look with his fiancé, full of love and gratitude, and Kyle felt his heart beat proudly at the words.

-

Having slept soundly and peacefully that night, Kyle woke up first thing in the morning when his mother put on some horrible Christmas classics mixtape, sung by a sickly sweet children's choir. He watched Dan sleep for a while, soaking in his lover's warmth and taking in his relaxed expression, and felt the man's forehead against his own. It was still warm.

Having to pay an obligatory visit to his _Uncle J._ (his nana's grouchy seventy-eight-year-old brother who lived three blocks away in a stuffy bungalow that smelled like the inside of an old ashtray) before noon, Kyle got out of bed and ready quickly and quietly before Dan woke up. The keyboardist would rather not expose his fiancé to the bigoted views of some _geezer_ whom he was forced to see twice a year – especially not when the singer was still feeling under the weather and much better off resting while he could –, and he left after pressing a gentle kiss to Dan's forehead, taking a moment to stroke his partner's soft hair while he tried to smother the worry inside him.

It was always _there_ – the deep-rooted fear of the day his lover would break. The day it would all become too much and Dan wouldn't be able to take any more pressure. It terrified Kyle that over the past year the once unlikely scenario had begun feeling more and more probable, that it slowly seemed to transform from _the worst case_ into something that might _actually_ happen.

Dan was strong, one of the toughest people Kyle had ever come across, but he tended to want to take an active part in every single aspect of what they did for a living, even if all it did was make him panic and ponder and stay up night after night trying to work out things that were neither in his power nor his duty to decide on. Dan would never say _no_ to being involved in every detail and each intricacy, but he too had to have a breaking point. And Kyle had no idea what he was supposed to do if something were to happen.

As expected, Uncle Jonathan was in a less than favourable mood when the three siblings and their mother arrived for their annual visit. He grumbled brashly about _everything_ from the tea his niece had brewed to the fruit cake his younger sister had baked (which apparently tasted _“as bland as a piece of wood”_ ) and was generally full of seething hatred. When Kyle's mum (who was greatly unimpressed with her uncle's attitude), in talking about the family's holiday plans, mentioned her son's _lovely boyfriend_ , the old man immediately grimaced in displeasure and mumbled an off-hand comment about _sissies these days_ – Kyle just rolled his eyes and tried his utmost to project the most detailed images of his lover's naked, writhing body into his uncle's brain. He thought he saw him shudder once or twice and grinned triumphantly to himself.

It began snowing ever so slightly on the way home. The town had not seen snow in a long time and feeling giddy like children, Kyle and his brother kept pushing each other out of the way trying to catch the tender snowflakes on their tongues. It was magical – the expansive decorations that made the small houses sparkle, the blinking fairy lights, lush Christmas trees, and illuminated living room windows – and Kyle thought he could finally feel the _Christmas spirit_ descend upon him, warming him from the inside out like a comforting sip of hot tea. He took a deep breath of the cold winter air and slowly huffed it out of his lungs.

They were _home_. They deserved to celebrate, to rest and take a break. A few weeks without gigs, without infuriatingly repetitive interviews and travelling to five different countries in one week, and no more living out of their suitcases, even if just for a while – they deserved to just breathe together and _be_ together, to focus on being happy for a while; and as a sense of tranquillity washed over him that he hadn't felt in far too long, the realisation finally settled in that he and Dan were really getting married.

After having been plagued by anxiety and feeling way, _way_ out of his depth, the whole ordeal had been over and done with in the blink of an eye: Dan had said _yes_ , had agreed to marry him, to be _his_ forever, and Kyle found his eyes filling with tears of relief and disbelief and unfiltered _happiness_. He was with the man he loved most in the whole world. They had a good life full of unique opportunities and irreplaceable experiences, reliable friends, and a beautiful home; they were healthy (if one disregarded mild cases of temporary illness) and truly _happy_.

Life was good as hell.

But, of course, there had to be _some_ drama (because what would their lives be without it) and when the small group returned home and Kyle quickly strode past the kitchen where his grandmother was baking more fruit cake and towards the spare bedroom, unable to exist even a _second_ longer without holding the man he loved in his arms, Dan was nowhere to be found.

“Nana, where's Dan?” he shouted as he jogged back into the hallway, and the woman stuck her head through the kitchen door, hands covered in powdered sugar and her brows furrowed.

“What do you mean, where's Dan? He said he'd meet you at Uncle Jo's.”

* * *

Heathrow Airport was immense. It was _colossal_. It was so bloody big that the signs leading the masses of travellers and holidaymakers to the many gates were marked with estimations of roughly how long it would take to _walk there_.

Absolute madness.

Dan and Charlie were still stuck in security after having (very unfortunately) chosen a queue that had been creeping forward inch by inch by inch for the past forty-five minutes, and Kyle had swiftly located the big _Pret_ in one of the crowded halls and joined a small cluster of people by the tills, planning on getting a nice big cup of coffee and a sandwich for his fiancé – to soften the absolute _mood_ the man was undoubtedly going to be in after trudging through passport control for well over an hour.

Before he got a chance to place his order, Kyle felt a light tap on his shoulder and Woody suddenly stood behind him, a small, worn out smile on his face and a serious expression in his kindhearted eyes.

“Alright?” Kyle inquired tentatively, highly apprehensive of receiving bad news right before they were going home for the holidays.

_I don't care what it is, just please ... nothing that's gonna upset Dan._

Woody exhaled at length. He seemed _tense_. “Can we sit down for a second?” he asked and Kyle sighed wearily, trying to mentally steel himself for whatever was to come (and feeling like he was failing miserably).

“Yeah, sure.”

The friends shuffled to the back of the charming coffee shop and sat on two barstools at one of the tall country-style tables that gave the café a cosy, rustic feel. Woody immediately began fidgeting with one of the maroon-and-white napkins that had been left behind by a previous visitor, before he began tracing his thumb through the sugar that dotted the dark wood. Kyle furrowed his brow.

“Dude. You're scaring me.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the older man was quick to apologise, and he wiped his palms on his jeans and cleared his throat. “So – I want to apologise.”

Kyle blinked at his long-haired friend in surprise. “You steal my socks again? I thought we'd already established that those are _way_ too big for you.”

Sniggering, Woody continued staring at the paper napkin as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever laid eyes on. “Yeah, no. This is more about something way back, couple years. You and Dan weren't official yet and-”

“If you're gonna tell me you tapped him before me, I-”

“Jesus, Kyle, let me _talk_!”

The younger man's eyes widened comically and he raised his hands in surrender, making a zipping motion across his mouth. Woody huffed noisily and ran a hand over the top his head, flattening the thin strands of hair that had escaped his impressive bun.

“Listen. Back in the day, when I found out about you guys,” he glanced up at Kyle who only nodded his head, motioning for the man to continue, “I was a _dick_.”

The keyboardist let out a guffaw at that – until he looked into his friend's eyes and noted his deadly serious expression. He swallowed. “You weren't a dick, mate. You were just worried.”

“ _I'm trying to look out for you, you know? To spare you heartbreak.”_

Woody shook his head in disagreement. “I was an overdramatic idiot refusing to give one of his best friends the benefit of the doubt.”

“ _No. You're trying to spare yourself heartbreak 'cause you're sure I'm gonna fuck it up and you don't wanna lose the fucking band.”_

“You thought things were gonna change, and that the band might break up if _we_ did. It's not a big deal, Wood, you don't have to apologise. Not after all these years.” Kyle flashed his long-time friend a warm smile, one that he hoped would communicate that he truly believed what he said. “Forgiven and forgotten!”

To be honest, it was not like Kyle would ever _really_ forget the fight he had started that day. It had been fierce and intense, certainly one of the most vicious arguments the two friends had ever had. Back then, Woody had insisted that Dan and Kyle's _thing_ would crash and burn around them sooner rather than later, and the keyboardist had been irritated, disappointed and sad. He had felt let down and betrayed because he knew that the stubborn drummer wasn't worried about how serious _Dan_ was about the relationship that was starting to grow between the two men – it was _Kyle's_ feelings that he doubted. It had stung more than a little to realise that one of his best friends, someone he trusted and whose opinion he valued immensely, disagreed with the one aspect of his life that made him indescribably, deliriously happy.

“ _You know, I wanted to tell you guys right away. 'Cause I was so fucking happy to be with him,” Kyle scoffed, disappointment dripping from his every word. “Dan stopped me. He said you wouldn't get it and to be honest, I had no idea what the fuck he was on about. Told him I was sure you were gonna be happy for us, but he insisted and I didn't wanna argue, so I let it go. I thought I'd just wait till he was ready.” He swallowed around the angry lump in his throat. “Now I get it.”_

Woody nodded to himself and sighed again, running a hand over his stubbled chin. “I know you're not mad at me anymore. I definitely would've felt it if you were.” He breathed a weak laugh. “And I know this isn't the ideal time or place to discuss it, but what with you guys getting engaged and stuff, I just – I wanted to say _something_.”

“ _You just don't think I can be serious about anything.”_

“ _Well, can you?!”_

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, Kyle stared nervously at the polished tabletop, struggling to think of anything to say that _wouldn't_ sound awfully dull. Fortunately, Woody forestalled any vague, amateurish attempt at reassurance.

“I know this is the real deal, okay? I used to think Dan was gonna be much more invested in the whole thing than you, I didn't think you could be serious about ... about being in love.” He took a deep breath. “I was an ignorant twat to think that – I know that now. Hell, I've known for a long time, any idiot with two brain cells can see how crazy you are about each other.” Woody laughed as if about a secret joke. “And I'm hoping I have a few more than that left.”

“Mate ... I kinda get it. I'm a dick. I make fun of everything and everyone, _including_ Dan.” Kyle paused to think for a moment. “ _Especially_ Dan,” he corrected himself and his friend snorted. “I _wasn't_ serious about anything back then, so it's not like you were wrong about me. The band was probably the first thing I was ever really invested in.” The young man sighed, scratching the back of his head contemplatively. “I don't blame you for acting the way you did. It just kinda sucked 'cause I was actually really fucking serious about Dan.” He smiled up at the drummer who was watching him intently. “From day one.”

“ _I've never been more serious about anything in my life.”_

Woody nodded. “I know. Should've known then, too. Or at least given you a chance before condemning the whole thing.” He grinned sheepishly and a relieved sigh fled his lips. “So, yeah. I'm sorry for being a dick and making you feel like crap. I know it's been a while, but it's something that's always weighed on me.”

Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket, Kyle beamed brightly and gratefully at the shorter man. “I appreciate it, mate. Honestly.”

“Hey, even I can admit when I'm wrong.”

“It's a Christmas miracle.”

Clearly satisfied to have spoken his mind, the drummer grinned wildly and lightly kicked Kyle's legs under the table. “You know, these days I almost feel like _you're_ the one who's more invested.”

“I'm so invested because if I don't have Dan, I have nothing,” the younger one responded seriously and his friend huffed an affronted scoff.

“Dude. You have me.”

Kyle looked up at him sadly. “But I'm not sexually attracted to you.”

Woody rolled his eyes at that and shook his head, more to himself than to Kyle. “Listen, I'm not gonna get into it right now, but you thinking you're somehow _less_ than him? It's bullshit. And I know you don't see it, but the guy is completely devoted to you. I know he's quite the realist, but you're everything to him.” The man smiled exasperatedly. “You're the reason why he does any of this shit.”

Suddenly feeling strangely shy in his old friend's presence and unable to hide the tender smile illuminating his face, Kyle quickly fixed his gaze on the throng of people steadily streaming past the shop – whether in search of their loved ones, their luggage, or the nearest exist, there was no telling. The men remained in companionable silence for several minutes, and Kyle thought about how long it had been since they had last had a heart to heart like this – just the two of them. It was nice.

“It wouldn't bother me, by the way,” he finally spoke up again, eyes fastened on an invisible point on the wall behind the older man.

“What wouldn't?”

“If you'd tapped Dan before me.” Woody groaned in exaggerated annoyance and Kyle smirked, but before he could continue deliberately irritating his friend, a tall, slender silhouette forcefully attached itself to Kyle's back, head dropping forward to rest heavily on his shoulder and arms quickly wrapped around him in a fierce, comfort-seeking hug. A wisp of soft hair tickled his cheek and the younger man didn't need to turn around to know exactly who was presently attempting to smother him.

“Hey, babes,” Kyle chuckled softly and Dan only grumbled incoherently in response. “Ready to go home?”

* * *

First and foremost and before even thinking about anything else, Kyle obviously tried ringing Dan's mobile, but the older man had left his phone on the wobbly nightstand in the spare bedroom (next to the glasses he also appeared to have forgotten) where it began vibrating softly as Kyle paced around the bed, nervously running his beringed fingers over his tousled moustache.

“Dammit,” he uttered and hung up forcefully, staring helplessly at the illuminated screen and at the blurry photo of him and Dan sitting snugly on their favourite sofa, the singer's head resting comfortably on the younger man's shoulder while both lovers raised their middle fingers to the camera. Kyle clenched his jaw. “ _Dammit_.”

As if conjured by her son's frowned upon swearing, Mrs Simmons suddenly appeared in the doorway, arms crossed uncertainly over her chest and watching him, an encouraging smile lighting up her kind features. “Kyle, honey. Calm down. He's fine.”

“You don't know that,” the keyboardist spat back, and he quickly filed away the shame he felt upon snapping at his mother to obsess over later.

The woman only sighed as if she had expected the small outburst, and walked towards him slowly yet confidently, gently squeezing Kyle's arm as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He's thirty years old. Even if he's gotten himself lost somehow – he'll be _fine_. What's the worst that could happen?”

Kyle was aware that he was being entirely irrational, but he could not stop the vivid images flashing brightly through his mind – of Dan stumbling blindly into the road and being hit by a car, Dan getting lost and collapsing somewhere they wouldn't find him for hours, Dan being mugged at knifepoint by a group of snotty pre-teens ... he _knew_ he was being overdramatic, but he couldn't help himself. Dan had not been feeling well at all, he was sick and exhausted. God knows what could happen if he was wandering about aimlessly and without paying attention to his surroundings; it wouldn't be the first time he nearly fell into a pond because his feet kept carrying him forward while his head was swimming in the clouds.

“I'm gonna go look for him,” Kyle announced, leaving no room for protest. “I'll take my phone and if he shows up here, you call me right away, yeah?”

Sighing in defeat, Mrs Simmons nodded her head, still rubbing her son's arm affectionately. “Put on something warm, it's freezing out there.”

-

Kyle was ready to leave in record time, and despite his mother still staring at him as if she were looking for the right words to tell him that he was being thoroughly unreasonable and his older brother rolling his eyes over how he was _acting like he had lost his pet_ , the keyboardist pulled the front door shut behind him with unwavering finality and quickly walked all the way back to his uncle's house, eyes scanning the streets and alleyways and snow-dusted gardens for any sign of the blue-eyed man he loved. He finally reached his destination without a breath to spare, and standing helplessly in front of Uncle Jonathan's home, he rang the doorbell reluctantly to make sure that Dan hadn't spontaneously decided to join the party and gotten stuck with the grumpy old man – it would not surprise Kyle in the _least_ if Dan preferred to suffer over possibly offending someone his future husband was affiliated with in any way, shape or form. But the door remained shut and the windows of the small house dark and uninviting, and so Kyle left as quickly as he arrived and started heading back home, walking hurriedly down narrow side streets and dodgy alleyways in the hopes that his fiancé had somehow gotten lost as he strayed from the main road.

Nothing.

The young man was feeling on edge and increasingly anxious, when suddenly, through the panicked fog that was slowly invading his mind, he could hear the soft tinkling of bells and the sound of tinny orchestral music being played through crappy speakers, and he quickly followed the faint noises to the town's marketplace, nearly slipping and falling on the paper-thin layer of snow that treacherously covered the ground.

Kyle had all but forgotten about the small, unassuming Christmas market which he had loved so much when he was a child and about the half-dozen tiny stalls had felt like a whole new world waiting to be explored – with the fairy lights and the wreaths, the red ribbons adorning the wooden roofs and the rosy-cheeked vendors offering all the sweets that had made little Kyle's mouth water, roasted almonds and candy canes and baked apples.

Kids were milling about the lovingly decorated place now, running carelessly past the small booths selling liquorice and spices, handmade jewellery, wooden toys and leather wallets, and laughing and chattering loudly as they congregated around the tall, lit up Christmas tree that hung heavy with crimson ornaments and yellow straw stars, gold tinsel and meticulously painted nutcrackers. The children were tying small pieces of paper around the lower branches, whispering conspiratorially to one another.

And stood unsuspectingly amidst the giggling six-year-olds was none other than Kyle's very own missing fiancé, looking highly focused and biting down on his bottom lip as he himself scribbled something on a piece of paper, his cheeks red and hair a mess. He was wearing those _damn_ All Stars that Kyle would have thrown out ages ago if he wasn't convinced that Dan would break up with him if he did, and all the bearded man could think was that his lover's shoes were probably _soaked_ by now and how the man was _already_ sick and now he was going to get even _more_ sick and-

-and then Dan smiled. Privately, to himself, and it was such a beautiful, heartwarming sight that Kyle could feel his heart drop into his stomach and his mind immediately went into tunnel vision.

Without thinking twice, he rushed towards Dan and grasped his shoulders, turning the man around and hugging him fiercely to his chest, one hand buried in his dishevelled hair and pressing his head into his shoulder. He wanted to envelop him whole, to keep him safe and warm, and after having been shocked into rigidity, Kyle finally felt his lover's arms hug him back and he exhaled a loud sigh of relief.

_See, he's fine. He's fine. He's completely fine._

“Kyle?”

The keyboardist squeezed his eyes shut and just kept holding the shorter man. “Are you okay?” was all he asked and he couldn't bring himself to care about how shaky and frantic his voice sounded.

Dan nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, course. What are you doing here?”

Frowning, Kyle finally moved back to stare disbelievingly into his fiancé's blue eyes. “Looking for _you_ , what do you think?! I came home and you weren't there, and nan said you wanted to meet us at Uncle Jo's, but you left your phone and I had no idea where you'd run off to and whether you were okay and- I thought you'd fallen into a _pond_ or _fainted_ or gotten _run over_ or something.”

The older man squinted, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “It's overwhelming how much faith you have in me.”

“Don't be a dick, Dan. I was fucking worried about you,” Kyle muttered between clenched teeth and pressed a hand against his lover's skin, feeling his forehead sceptically. He was aware that people ( _parents_ ) were staring at them now, but strangers' opinions had no place on his list of priorities right now. “You have a temperature, you idiot. You should be in _bed_.”

The older man giggled loudly at that and _wow_ , he definitely sounded more than a little delirious still. “I'm _fine_ , Ky. I went to your uncle's but you weren't out yet, so I wandered around a bit and then I stumbled upon this place, what's the big deal? I'm a grown-ass man, I can take care of myself.”

Kyle sighed exasperatedly. “Yeah? Tell your brain that cause it keeps deciding to make you act like an annoying toddler.” Dan only slapped his shoulder weakly in response and the bearded man looked him over yet again before his eyes fell on the mysterious piece of paper in his hands. “What the hell are you _doing_?”

“Writing a wish for Santa,” Dan muttered secretively and the younger man attempted to snatch the paper from him. The older man grinned and the sight of his dimples immediately softened Kyle's heart. “Stop it! It's a _secret_ , it won't come true if I show you.”

“Jesus Christ,” the taller man sighed, “I need to get you into bed.”

Dan went on tip-toes and kissed Kyle softly on the lips. “You should,” he whispered and smiled at his fiancé through half-lidded eyes before wriggling free from the tight embrace and tying his paper to the Christmas tree. He was beaming happily as he spun around and slid back into Kyle's open arms, sighing contentedly. The younger man rolled his eyes, but he still held his lover tightly and pressed a soft kiss to his burning forehead.

“You're a nightmare, you know that?”

The singer smiled innocently. “But you still love me, right?”

As they began walking away from the illuminated stalls and the curious eyes that were watching them, Kyle hummed to himself, acting as if he were contemplating the question. They stopped right underneath the large, stony archway that marked the entrance to the small marketplace, and Kyle scrutinised the blue-eyed man for a long moment. “Hm, yeah, I guess you're alright.” He shrugged. “Kinda cute, too.”

Dan grinned brightly at his lover's dismissive words and raised both eyebrows suggestively as he pointed above their heads. Kyle followed the shorter man's feverish gaze and his eyes fell on the sprig of mistletoe hanging from the moss-covered stone. He was about to make a sarcastic comment about how they were past the point of strategically using mistletoe to get into each other's pants, but when he looked back down at the man he loved, Dan was watching him with unabashed adoration shining in his stunning eyes. The singer smiled softly.

“You're right, we should take a break,” he said quietly and Kyle blinked at him in utter confusion.

“W-What?”

“I'm- we should take a step back. Just for a couple months, you know? Focus on _us_ , on being together, getting married ...” Dan linked his fingers with Kyle's and shook his head subtly to himself. “I wanna marry you without thinking about whatever gigs we have to do a week later.” He shrugged. “We haven't had an _actual_ break since- well, not since we started dating, that's for sure. It'll be interesting to see if you still wanna marry me when I'm bored out of my mind and never leave our flat anymore 'cause it's just so damn comfy.”

The younger man laughed softly at that and a small white cloud rose into the clear December air. Snowflakes were falling around them again and Kyle cupped Dan's face and stared into his eyes with utmost affection, admiration and amazement. “I'll make sure you don't get bored,” he whispered, emotion closing up his throat as he pressed their foreheads together, “and besides, there is _nothing_ you could possibly do that would change my mind about wanting to marry you,” he promised and locked their lips together slowly, lovingly.

“ _I've never been more serious about anything in my life.”_

Dan hummed happily into the kiss and Kyle could feel him smile. “Next year, we should get a wreath for our flat,” the singer murmured as soon as they separated, and the way he gazed at Kyle made his insides twist in the most pleasant, addictive way, “A _Merry Christmas from the Simmons'_ one,” he finished, smiling tenderly, and Kyle stared at him dumbstruck before pulling his lover into a bone-crushing hug, covering the giggling man's face with sweet, open-mouthed kisses.

-

The little handwritten wishes never actually made it to Santa (or _anyone_ for that matter), but if Dan had gotten his hands on the little piece of paper years and years and _years_ later, he would have realised with utmost joy and effervescent gratitude that his wish had come true.

_I don't know where I'll be in a few years and I don't know if things will be better or worse. But no matter what happens, please just let him be mine for a little while longer ... that is all I wish for – and all I'll ever need_

_Merry Christmas x_


End file.
